August 2003

I couldn’t help myself and took a second to catch up on Lisa’s and Geof’s blog to feel connected to everyone back home. As long as I’m not calling work or anything I don’t think it’s too unhealthy.

Geof and Lisa were both delighted to see an article in the crappy Philadelphia Inquirer about blogging, and each had some comment about how great a community activity is and took the popular stance that things about what people do aren’t interesting. I agree, which is why I don’t read blogs like that. Nor do I care if anyone reads what I write.

I used to have an actual journal. I still bring it camping with me at least once a year, and would use it if I really had to get something off my chest and felt like I couldn’t share it with anyone (this rarely happens). I also took it on my trip to Europe last year. The only problem with keeping an actual journal is the hand cramps; I type a hell of a lot faster than I write.

So, my blog was born. I didn’t tell my family about it at first, since it was only a make one particular night of drunken escapades with Matt available to a few people, but now they’re my biggest fans. Some of my friends seem to get a kick out of it too, though I’m careful to keep it from taking the place of one-on-one interaction.

I used to delve into politics and deeper thought like Geof does, but he forgets that I’m older now and got most of that out of my system a while ago. I think about politics and things I read, but it’s not something I’d write in my journal unless I had a major change of conscience, and since this is my journal of sorts I don’t write it here. I mainly like to keep my grammar and spelling in good shape while I take a break from any significant writing in the hope that if I ever start up again I won’t have problems constructing a sentence. I’ve also been practicing not using swear words when I write, and it’s going pretty well I think; my favorite word since my junior year in high school has yet to be used here. Tim said at Casper’s last week that if he ever started keeping an online journal, he’d like to have something which he could read years from now. It’s my thinking exactly, and I’ll want to pour over my history someday without having to sort through irrelevant news articles and broken links.

Dia’s not coming down today. She said yesterday that Al wasn’t making the trip after all, so I’ll have to wait two more days to smack her around hold her in my arms.

I finally went into the ocean today. We threw the Frisbee around for a little while and then I went for a run along the beach. I shaved my head yesterday, so it gave me a chance to get that pasty pale scalp of mine slightly darker.

Now I’m in a tiny version of hell, watching Walker, Texas Ranger on television and discussing with my dad things like my place in heaven and having children.

See, I was having so much fun all week I forgot I was vacationing with my family and should be expecting things like this. Last night before charades I suggested we give the girls’ team Urinetown or The Vagina Monologues to act out — not a good idea as it earned me a reprimand.

As for Chuck Norris, I can’t believe people watch his crappy show. The music is as overly dramatic as the acting, and the editing is a joke; instead of filming two trucks driving down a highway, they spliced together the same clip of one truck twice. I guess it doesn’t matter since only the old and/or stupid are watching anyway. Alright, the news is on now. According to the stupid CNN Headline News ticker, the Oxford Dictionary added 30,000 new words, including eeyorish, “blog”, and “nerd”. Whoop-dee-doo. Also, the Nasdaq is up to it’s highest whatever in about a year.

Alright, back to reading (Chuck Palahnuik’s Choke).

I’m not sure the world can handle a leaner, more confident me. Either way, that’s what they’re going to get. This time last year I was at least 10 pounds heavier and hardly as active as I am now. I may be on vacation, but I’m doing a lot and eating pretty well considering.

Last night I went to bed around 3 a.m. after losing a game of Seafarers to my Dad and working on a 1,000-piece puzzle with my mom. I woke up at 9:30 a.m., ate breakfast and played Seafarers again, and ran to the Wright Brothers National Memorial (about a mile uphill). I jumped into the pool when I got back and had a bowl of soup for lunch, and finished the puzzle with my mom and Aunt Mary. Now it’s time for more board games and if we don’t have enough people, read a book.

I called Dia today and she told me Al and Mary may be taking Friday off and driving down here to the Outer Banks. If so, she and Kari may be able to catch a ride and spend the day here. It’s not definite, but it would rock if she could pull it off.

I usually advise everyone not to look forward to their vacations too much because when they’re over it’s that much harder to return to work, though it’s hard to practice what I preach. I’m all for living in the moment, but a week of reading, exercise, fun and resting in the sun, and board games (Kohle, Kie$ and Knete, Settlers, Werewolf, and Traumfabrik) is too much to resist. I asked two of my coworkers what 5 + 2 + 2 was, and then told them the answer: “how many days in a row I have off starting tonight!” I had all my electronic doodads charging at another desk all day since I’m getting on the turnpike and heading straight down to Maryland from work.

In other news about myself, my thumb and forefinger are killing me as the van started (or didn’t start, as it were) giving me problems yesterday. I eventually got it going — I always do when the starter is acting up — but not without a lot of pain and sweat. Once I got it started I was a little worried. I even got up this morning to hit the gym in case the van didn’t start, at which point I could jog to the train station to pick up Dia’s car; it started fine. It even started when I got out of the gym (I didn’t have a backup plan at this point). I remembered soon after I left the parking lot that I forgot the board games and my hair clipper at home, and this is when the van took its longest to start. A full 15 minutes later I was finally on my way to work. Here I sit, hoping against all odds that it’ll start right up and I can make it to Maryland without any incident. I should only have to stop for gas once, just to be safe because the fuel gauge isn’t working anymore.

Finally, I’m well on my way to my weight loss goal. I’m hesitant to tell anyone this in person because everyone insists on commenting on what I’m eating and how it isn’t helping my diet, as if I didn’t make it this far without their advice. Regardless, I’m down to a year-low of 241, and as I could tell people if I gave a damn what they thought: “I’m not on a diet.” I’m changing the way I live and there’s a world of difference between the two. It all comes down to Eat Less, Do More, and no amount of mental justification can change that. The closest thing to dieting that I practice is counting calories, but even that is only to a small degree. I’ve sat down on more than one occasion and split an entire watermelon with Dia without knowing how many calories they have: 80 calories for 1/18 of a watermelon. That means 720 calories just for dessert. Still, I must be doing something right. I just keep a mental note of what I’ve eaten for the day or week and only eat when I’m hungry, and I stay active — simple.

I like hearing about a giant blackout that downed most of the northeast. It adds excitement to my daily routine without affecting me directly and it doesn’t appear to be terrorist related (and if it was, no big deal this time anyway). It would suck a little bit to be in New York right now, but fortunately I’m not in New York.

I’m also surprised that Philadelphia didn’t have outages as well. I mean, it’s such a small, shitty town compared to real cities so there is never any real fear of terrorism there, but Philly should be a magnet for something like a power failure.

Getting back to places that were affected though: It was amazing to see so many people flooding the streets of New York. Those are the kind of images that will end up in The Century in Review type of books. Equally awesome is the lack of rioting in Detroit. Congratulations are in order to the lower classes for maintaining their composure.

The only thing that annoyed me was a news clip I saw about a little girl trapped in a bank vault. It was on the television at the gym so I only caught the tail end, but from what I gathered the vault door shut automatically when the power went out. What I can’t figure out is how a 4- or 5-year-old was doing more than an arms length from her mother, let alone far enough away for her to be trapped in a vault alone. Thanks to a mother’s stupidity, they had to bore a child-sized hole in a perfectly good vault first to reassure her, then to get her out of there. This is the kind of situation where someone should have told the mother: “Look, you want her out? Fine, agree to pay for the damages and we’re all set.” This is exactly the type of type of situation where an individual isn’t held responsible for her actions and a larger group ends up paying for it instead. While it was unfortunate, the girl could have just as easily stayed in there until the time locks automatically released the door at 6:00 a.m. today.

We did it again for the third time in five weeks: we had the best team name at Quizzo with Wha’chu talkin’ ‘bout, Arnold?”. There really isn’t any doubt that we’ll win anymore. There were three other team names about the California election that just plain sucked: “Arnold for Governor” and “Midgets Can Become Governors Too” or something like that were some of the lamest I’ve ever heard.

As usual we sucked it up when it came to the trivia: we didn’t know who wrote The Big Sleep, the first Martin Scorcese/Robert DeNiro when listed alphabetically (Cape Fear) and we missed four in the joker round that centered on songs considered hits both when performed by the original artist and when they were remade, just to name a few. Then again, we get quite a few right that were debated or guessed at.

And all this with only four of us plus Blumberg and his friend.

I’ve had the family vacation to N.C. on my calendar for the better part of a year, so when e-mail was finally sent out about Mitch’s bachelor party with “I hope August 16th is a good weekend for everyone” I was a little disappointed. I sent a message saying that any other weekend would be better, but I didn’t really expect anyone to change their “plans” for me (even though any plans hadn’t even been made yet). After all, I don’t really know these party-goers since most of Mitch’s close friends were in Alpha Epsilon Pi and they mostly know each other but not me.

They also strike me as pretty stupid. I know I said this before when Joel was planning Dave’s bachelor party, and that night turned out to be a lot of fun. But this time is different. E-mail communication comes in spurts, and nothing was really discussed, only decreed by someone I’m guessing is the best man:

Hey Guys,
I know you’ve all been anxiously waiting to find out exactly what we are going to do, but give me a break…I Work ! Anyway, The date as you all should already know is Saturday, August 16’th. The where is Center City Philadelphia. The time is up to you guys. Here is the plan… We will all meet up at the hotel between 4 & 5 PM. We have a really nice suite booked for us at the Ritz Carlton. In case any of you don’t know, it’s the nicest hotel in all of Philadelphia. I even hear that the strippers will do a little extra over there because they just love it so much. First we will drop our stuff off in the room and then we’ll all go eat dinner at either the Italian Bistro Restaurant or Magiano’s. The idea that seems to be best is that after dinner, we will all go bar hopping and strip club shopping for a few hours or more. After that we will probably drag each others drunk asses back to the hotel with some strippers/hookers/massage specialists and we can all contract some form of STD together. That is the general idea minus the whole STD thing…Sound good for everyone? If anyone has any questions or needs directions, please let me know. The cost for the room and meal will be divided by all who attend with exception to Mitch who doesn’t have to pay jack shit. There will be absolutely no quibbling, bitching, moaning, crying, or complaining in reference to the checks. If there are any questions or concerns please let me know. Thanks guys and we’ll hopefully see each other soon.

Now, I have one major “quibble” with this plan: I don’t remember any discussion about it. Any inclination I may have had to skip the first two days of my vacation to attend this event was killed by this e-mail. The Ritz Carlton? One of the most expensive hotels in Philadelphia? Even one tenth of the check for the suite would have made me raise an eyebrow. Once you throw private strippers, dinner, and booze into the mix it gets questionable.

I can appreciate the take-charge attitude necessary to pull off a bachelor party, but only once opinions have been solicited. I also appreciate the invitation to let the head honcho know if there are any questions or concerns, but since probably wasn’t able to make it anyway — and the damn suite is already booked — there’s not much point to it. That doesn’t mean the planning process was any less disorganized, though.

My two remaining complaints are rather minor. First, I dislike it when the brother of the bride is allowed to tag along. He has his place in the couple’s future, but the bachelor party isn’t it. I don’t know if it’s customary or not, but the night should be focused on the groom and his close friends — no one else. The other problem is with the smacked-ass pictured to the right, Marc Leber. He sent this gem of an e-mail on Monday:

Mitch told me last night his 3 favorite bars are:

Plough in the Stars
Coyote Ugly
Continental


They are all in Olde City. I’m not from Philly. Anyone ever heard of these places?

Leber

Normally this e-mail would be perfectly acceptable. However, this gentleman attended Drexel University for four years. I can understand if he doesn’t know what bars are where — there are tons of people who wouldn’t know — but why preface it with “I’m not from Philly”? He was educated here. He “from Philly” to some degree. Is he just too dumb to realize it? Always in the mood to solve a mystery, I sent an e-mail to Marc searching for some answers. I received the following response:

I haven’t been to Drexel in over 4 years. And who the hell ever went to Old City? There was nothing to do out there.

So he is a moron. Old City is one of the hottest late-night spots in the city, and even those “tons of people” I mentioned before who wouldn’t know specific bars at least know where the happening part of town is. Even if clubs and bars aren’t your thing, Old City is home to the Arden Theatre Company, the Painted Bride Art Center and the Philadelphia Fringe Festival, as well as First Fridays at art galleries up and down 2nd Street. Restaurants in the area include Buddakan, Cafe Spice, Lamberti’s Cucina, Sfizzio, and Warmdaddy’s to name a few. There are also three Ritz movie theaters for those who don’t like drinking, eating, art or taking in a show. I’d say Old City (and it is officially known without the “e” now) is without a doubt one of the cultural hubs of Philadelphia, and anyone who isn’t aware of this doesn’t deserve to be a Founding Father of a fraternity. Then again, maybe this is the reason AEPi is known as the Milk and Cookies Fraternity.

I’m disappointed I won’t be a part of Mitch’s bachelor party, but knowing I won’t have to waste money and an evening with this fool helps me get over it that much quicker.

1. Leave late. Getting to the campgrounds at 11:30 p.m. is a great idea, especially when there’s a two minute walk to the site involved with no flashlight.

2. Don’t bring a flashlight. Assume there will be a parking spot right next to the tent site, and plan on using your vehicle’s headlights to light up the area. Setting up a tent should be made as challenging as possible, and sharing a friend’s flashlight between everyone isn’t frustrating at all.

3. Go in blind; don’t get details about the site beforehand. Remember: Less is more, and can lead to adventures like dark, romantic walks (see 1 and 2 above) while carrying shopping bags of supplies. Also, when you’re ignorant of layout details, you can confidently urinate on the edge of your campsite without any concerns about how close the other tents are. Think about this only after the sun comes up the next morning.

4. Bring people who don’t like camping. This way, you can look forward to hearing phrases like, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Oh my God! I just saw something move,” “It’s just a frog, but I want to sleep in the car anyway,” and “There is dirt under my fingernails, how am I going to eat?” These people will contribute to the camping camaraderie by spending the night in your vehicle.

5. Ignore all the warnings you’ve ever heard about campgrounds. Any place that has parking lots filled with cars boasting religious emblems and bumper stickers is not creepy. Furthermore, waking up with two creepy little girls looking in your tent is not an unnerving way to start your day.

Once we spent one night adhering to the rules above, Chris, Lisa and Dia concluded that camping wasn’t as glamorous as they envisioned. I was hot as hell and bothered by my lack of preparedness, so I suggested we call the trip a wash and drive up to Six Flags’ Hurricane Harbor to salvage our Saturday. We stopped on our way through Philadelphia to drop off a few of Chris and Lisa’s camping supplies and picked up Al and Mary while we were there.

We had a fun-filled afternoon at the water park and got plenty of exercise. The park closed early for an unknown reason and following Tim’s lead from last time I stopped by the Guest Services window and got coupons for a $10 return visit to either park. I guess that when the park is nowhere near full capacity, management cuts costs by closing early as a rule; most people wouldn’t think to complain, but for those who do it’s cheaper to give them a coupon and have them spend another entire day at the park. Personally, I’m happier with losing an hour and coming back another day at a discount price. We’re so cheap when it comes to amusement parks that Dia and I told the parking attendant that we already paid for parking at the other lot and asked him if we had to pay again. He asked for our stubs and I pretended we left them with our parents or something, glad that we at least made the attempt. After we gave the guy our money however, his cash register jammed and rather than try very hard at opening it, he waved us through. Mission: Free Parking accomplished.

We stopped for dinner at Bertucci’s afterwards, the perfect end to an anti-camping trip.

Again, making up words because I’m in a rush.

I was on my way out the door when I realized I should write something brief about how Al is an okay guy. I still don’t excuse what he did, and I’m sure he’ll say that it’s not something that he needs me to excuse in the first place.

One of my own faults has always been my cowardly way of ranting in a one-sided medium and behind other people’s backs. In this case, though, I’ve said things that I would say right to Al in a joking yet you’re-getting-on-my-nerves sort of way. Just to be sure, I am sending Al the following e-mail:

Al,

You’re cheap; paying for your share of this weekend is a step in the right direction to getting over it.

Stop making fun of me, whether it be cameras, my cats, the Honda Element, or the movie-making board game.

I didn’t like it when you tricked me into driving to Philadelphia when we were going to the beach, only to tell me once I was there that you were taking your own car.

I hope that eases some of the tension, as I don’t want to ruin my friendship with Al despite what I wrote only hours ago. A skipped camping trip is not as bad as an ego trip, and certainly not the end of the world.

My boss is cool. I feel like he really listens and cares what’s going on with my work. Even if he really doesn’t and is just pretending to hear my concerns I wouldn’t even care, that’s how likeable this guy is.

In an environment where I have to restrain myself from shouting “The world is my goddamn oyster and I don’t need this shit” every day, he’s scoring some points for the good guys. Just today he had everyone who works with one particular client install Instant Messenger on their computers so they can write to one another during conference calls. They can pass secret notes and discuss client comments without having to take the call in the same room — pretty darn smart if you ask me.

Al is an inconsiderate prick.

It’s more than just his recent slight — bailing out on our camping trip less than one day beforehand — though that would certainly be enough on its own. His words are best: “I was going to try to find an elaborate excuse, but I don’t have one. I just don’t feel like it. Sorry for being such an a-hole.” Going camping with just Chris and Lisa is by no means bad, but it’s always more fun to go camping with a group of people.

Even during the planning sessions for this weekend, Al annoyed me. He showed as little interest in planning the trip as I did, except he was the most vocal about shooting down anyone else’s suggestions. He wanted the ocean, not a lake. He yelled at Mary for wanting a pool. And my favorite: “Let’s camp in Delaware because it’s ‘nicer’.” He then proceeded to spend the entire evening ignoring everyone while he toyed with Mary’s palm pilot.

This latest detail is a real slap in the face. This is not trip to the movies, we were planning this for a long time. I used to think that we enjoyed each other’s company. Now that I see how it is, I fully intend to view his minor quirks as full-out transgressions.

This fair-weather jerk has never pretended to enjoy anything other than working and driving up to Lancaster. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get Al to hang out anymore, and when he finally does he finds something to complain about. It always seems like he wants to be somewhere else.

He’s also cheap. Frankly, I’m surprised the bastard agreed to even pay his share for the campground. Seeing how he works such long hours and makes so much, I would hardly expect him to be so tight-fisted. Al showed up at the New Deck Tavern last Wednesday in part because we had hoped to have dinner and plan this very camping trip, and balked when he learned that it was a dollar to play Quizzo. He upped and left instead.

I realize most of my own faults, but to make myself feel better about him ditching us this weekend, I’d like to point out some of his recent less desirable behavior. He spent one night posing hypothetical questions about how much I’d spend to provide emergency services for my cat. I can’t spend a minute with him before he points out how much better his digital camera is. Not a game night goes by when he doesn’t groan about how much a particular game sucks. All in all, a real negative person. (As opposed to this rant, which is brimming with positivity.)

After typing all this out, I’m not nearly as angry as I was a few minutes ago. It was anger borne of sadness, because it’s obvious to me that our friendship is slowly dissolving. Since it takes two to tango, there’s nothing I can do about it either. As with Tomas, I’ll look fondly on the days we spend working on The Triangle together, but hanging out doesn’t seem worth the effort anymore.

I was listening to an anecdote about a masseuse on the radio today, and it got me thinking about Patty and Tomas. I feel bad that I haven’t written to Patty before she left for Texas, even worse than not seeing Tomas in months.

I’m not sure if its specifically their company I miss, or the idea that I fell out of touch with former friends. I feel bad every time I think about Brian Poile and what friends we used to be even though we probably don’t have that much in common anymore. I even have regrets over Nathan Barss, who was a real asshole before he dropped off the face of the earth, but I still have dreams about hanging out with him and feel sad that we don’t keep in touch.

I get these same feelings about the two amigos even though I can pinpoint reasons for letting the friendship slip away. Tomas is a drunk, for one. Even a road trip to Virginia wasn’t eventful enough on its own to keep him from ordering a drink called The Rusty Nail for breakfast — breakfast. Patty stole a bottle of wine from The Olive Garden and alerted me to her mild kleptomania. I felt really awkward around her after that moment, like I didn’t know her very well anymore. Her arguments about “the man” and how “information should be free” didn’t do much to convince me, and while she was correct to point out that everyone steals something (cable television, mp3s), I find taking something from a store black and white enough to despise it.

This wasn’t — and still isn’t — intended to be a Diaz-bashing. We had great times together and I miss them both. I remember fondly having everyone over to the house on the corner of 32nd & Summer Streets to watch TV and play N64 until my sister would wake up and shout at us. They were always the first on my list of people to call and that has been rendered impossible now.

Actually, it was already impossible when people started growing up and out of the city. It’s difficult to socialize with people who are both determined to live in the city and have no interest in owning a car. I understand the “I’m helping society by not having a car” argument (and the underlying financial situation that makes the moral stance necessary for most of these people), but it restricts planning, adds to travel time, and makes keeping in touch that much harder. Tomas and Patty aren’t the only ones with this handicap, but in my opinion they are the most affected by it.

There were other barriers to good relationships, too. It didn’t help that Patty seemed to seek out the worst places to live; I don’t think there was an asscrack left in Philadelphia in which she didn’t dwell. She was always quite a lady however, and fun to hang out with. For the most part I enjoyed her company and I hope she finds success Texas.

My problem with Tomas is that he’s an asshole now. Once went off the deep end it wasn’t until he became belligerent that I ceased to enjoy his antics. One can only deal with so much nonsense about “infecting the meme” and “culture jamming” before they become ill. I understand he had a hard time dealing with his breakup with Daisy, but she got her driver’s license, finished school, and is now an engineer. I’m sure Tomas has a different notion of success, but I wonder if what he’s doing now meets his criteria. With as many chances as NACME gave him, I’m in awe of his complete ineptitude. Even so, I miss him.

Wow, this little essay certainly took on a life of its own. I hope I see them in the future as houseguests someday. In small doses it’ll be just like old times.

That’s not even a word — that’s how busy I am. I’m making shit up just to get this over with. Work has been nothing but work lately, which would normally be great except I’ve come to realize that my opinions and ideas don’t mean jack squat. I may work in a small division but my place in that division deals directly with a large corporation. My instructions come through three middlemen and I meet with resistance every time I try to smooth out the wrinkles in our processes. I can’t even try new things and learn from mistakes because I’m not allowed to try anything; I have to follow the rules in an invisible book.

On the bright side I’m down under 250 pounds for the first time in over a year. (I’m skeptical about keeping it off, but who knows.) With everything going on, I’ve simply been too busy to eat. This weekend Dia and I are going camping with Al, Chris, Lisa, and Mary. If it doesn’Äôt rain all weekend I should get a fair amount of exercis I only realized a few hours ago that the trip was tomorrow, so we went to the store to pick up food for the weekend. I already have everything else that Dia and I need, it’s just a matter of gathering it all together and shoving it in the van with a minimal amount of organization. It’s not like we’re hiking it in or anything, but it would suck to have to sort everything out in the rain.

As if all this running around wasn’t enough, I’m having trouble sleeping too. I keep dreaming about roller coasters, water slides and such. Which reminds me, the pictures are up. There isn’t anything spectacular, but I like the sunset in the last image with the ride operator barely visible at the very top. A lot of the animal shots were boring but I threw them up anyway; at least I weeded out over a hundred of them first (Dia went photo crazy). Finally, the landscape below is some kind of goat-ish animal with a dead fly on his back which I found amusing.

Time to hit the sack. There are some people coming to my site from Matt’s blog, mostly German idiots and Armed Forces peeps, for whom I would like to have posted something more interesting, but I’m just too tired.

Holy shit I had fun yesterday at Great Adventure. The lines were short, the price was right, and I didn’t get a sunburn. We did almost every major roller coaster before 1 p.m. then headed out to the parking lot to a tailgate lunch. We didn’t need to split up until later, when Chris wanted to go on more rides while the rest of us went to Hurricane Harbor, and no one really chickened out at all.

We drove through the safari after lunch and it was more interesting than I thought it would be, with llamas, ostriches, and giraffes walking between cars. No one found it nearly as fascinating as Dia and Bridget, but it was free so what the hell. I was most amused by how New Yorkers are equally shitty drivers even when it’s only through a goddamn safari.

We sat outside of Hurricane Harbor for about an hour while we waited for the price of tickets to drop at 4 p.m. Again, we rushed through all the major slides in about two hours since there were absolutely no lines anywhere. We were too tired to do much else when they made an announcement that the park would be closing an hour early (anticipated severe weather, even though the sun was at its brightest for the day). We tried our luck at the Guest Relations desk and they gave us passes to come back another entire day for $10.00. Rob mentioned he’ll likely sell his on eBay, but I’m definitely going back again.

After leaving the water park, Ross, Lara, Dia and I went back to ride some more coasters. We only went on one more — the Batman ride — before calling it quits. Our feet were sore and the lines were a lot longer, not to mention that a group of people got stuck on Nitro just as we were about to go on it. So we called it a day only an hour after Rob, Tim, Chris, and Bridget.

As far as rides go: Superman is really cool; it’s a totally different dynamic when in a “flying” position. Nitro was the best ride of the day by far — it was truly horrifying to take so many major drops in a row while floating out of my seat, the first drop in particular is almost vertical. Skull Mountain is the worst roller coaster ever, and the person who designed it should be shot; totally boring, barely worth our 10 minute wait in line. Medusa was very refreshing, and my second favorite yesterday — I seemed to be in perfect balance the whole time, and it was smooth and easy the entire way. The tube rides in the water park were all excellent, though I’m not sure I would have liked any of them if I had to wait in any sort of line.

The day’s success hinged on the weather. The “scattered T-storms” kept everyone away, especially from the water park. The skies were overcast all day, but it was still warm and pleasant. It only showered once, and we only got moderately wet (except for Tim and Chris, who were riding Nitro at that point). By the time it was drizzling pretty regularly, we were ready to get anyway and were in our bathing suits too busy climbing stairs to the water rides. The only line that would have been problematic was for Superman, but we tackled that first. We unintentionally arrived half an hour early and ended up waiting by the cordoned-off section nearest the ride. When the line dropped I started to walk, then gave in totally and ran with Tim and Dia to a pretty sweet spot in line, with Ross and Lara right behind. We waited for seats in the very first row, and by that time Rob, Bridget and Chris had caught up. It was smooth sailing from that point on.

I took some pictures throughout the day, but they were all shots of idle time — waiting in line, waiting for the water park to open, people waiting on top of Nitro while the guy climbed around on top of the hill. There are one or two nice ones, though not enough to put in an album.

Chris, Rob, and Hager used to make fun of Ross for eating tuna right out of the can. Well, half a minute ago Dia reached a low of her own when I caught her eating mustard from the jar. I guess I should be happy she was at least using a spoon instead of her fingers, but even so — yuck. It might be the norm over in Serbia, but here I think it might be grounds for a beating.

Usually I stick to inane journal-type stuff, but every so often I delve into a rant about something in particular. Once again, my keyboard has found Nathan, more specifically his Instant Messenger away message: “No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful.”

Poppycock. It may sound poetic in a communist sort of way at first, but I doubt that anyone — even They Might Be Giants, from whom the line originates — thought exactly what that statement means. I’m sure it’s not meant maliciously; it’s probably meant in a “money can’t buy happiness” kind of way, which I still find faulty but can at least understand. But as the statement reads by itself, I imagine children who want to escape abusive homes, people on their deathbeds for want of a cure, or oppressed people wanting freedom.

I’m sure the authors were making their attempt to be artistic in expressing an American Beauty-plastic-bag type of beautiful, but in their search for beauty in sadness, I think it just comes across shallow and trite.

I let things slip a little this weekend, eating too much and spending way too much to do it. It’s not even worth pointing out that I had a blast since that’s my de facto

Tim did much of the planning for a change, and we headed out to Conshohocken to hit some of the bars there. After eating too much pizza, we went to a pretty young place with a great girl-guy ratio. We only stayed there for a bit before Tom and Andy ditched us for some ultra-swinging party in Manayunk and we went to a relative dive crowded with middle-aged business types and rednecks — and two hoes who put $5 into the photo hunt machine.

Saturday afternoon was for the kittens. Dia and I took them to the vet and only had to wait for one hour this time. They did the routine stuff and prescribed antibiotics for Ravioli who is eating better but still might be unhealthy. Our vet is absolutely awful and we only stuck with him this far because he’s close and Csoki isn’t going to need an appointment for a while. It became evident just how bad he is when he asked us the same questions three or four times, and then had us help him take the cats’ temperatures instead of an assistant. I’ve never heard of pet owners having to participate in shoving thermometers up their pets’ asses, and let me tell you it wasn’t a fun experience. Nevertheless, the kittens were fine an hour later and bounding about their room while they played with Pat, Christina, Dave and Tara.

Saturday night was a return to diet-breaking at the Borgata all-you-can-eat buffet for $24.95, again at Tim’s suggestion. It was worth every penny. Sirloin steak, great Chinese food, stuffed turkey, a few delicacies I had never tried, New York cheesecake and countless other desserts, and asparagus — none of this looked like typical buffet fare, the stuff that’s bruised and tattered from hungry old buzzards picking at it all night; the spread was immaculate. In addition to the high-priced fare, I lost another $40 on the slot machines. Still, it was better than losing $120 at the Caribbean Stud tables (which the Borgata does not have yet) even if it wasn’t as fun.

Sunday we let the cats run around and followed the vet technician’s advice of non-interference when they started to play rough. Cannoli is the smallest kitten but also the only male, so he’s constantly aggressive and trying to play with the girls who only want to be left alone. He plays so roughly that Ravioli now has a sizeable cut on her ear. Each of them will have their turn getting smacked down enough to settle into their roles in the apartment and Csoki will be allowed in the bedrooms unattended without peeing everywhere.

I shelled out the $90 to find out what was wrong with the van — it needed a gallon of gas.

That’s it, I was out of gas. Despite the gauge reading 1/8 and the DTE meter indicating 26 miles left, the tank was empty. The fine gentlemen at Firestone ran the diagnostic and found there was nothing wrong with the engine whatsoever, tried putting gas in it, and there you have it. They went on to say that I could use a new fuel filter as well, which is odd because I just had it changed when the whole fuel pump and injection system was replaced six months ago. I can’t blame them for trying to screw me over, I’m perpetually in the prone position.

I can now add a faulty fuel gauge to the list of RVan quirks. I just have to use my trip odometer instead or be sure to never drop below a quarter tank.

I don’t feel like I just lost $90. I feel ecstatic, really. This was going to be the final nail in the van’s coffin, the point at which I lit it on fire and sent it down a hill. Instead, I paid a modest fee to find out I didn’t have do to that. I had all but started looking for a junkyard that would tow it for free and keep it. Knowledge comes at a high price sometimes, that’s life.

So the van lives to drive another mile.